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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371132">if not himself, then he has naught</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/myeyesarenotblue/pseuds/myeyesarenotblue'>myeyesarenotblue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, Canonical Character Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Gore, Hallucinations, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Torture, Underage Drug Use, no beta we die like ben, oh boy where do i start, this one's just not happy :(</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:22:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371132</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/myeyesarenotblue/pseuds/myeyesarenotblue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“What happened?”  </p>
<p>Klaus <i> laughs</i>, giggles, breathy and hysterical. “Oh, not much. Benny-boy kicked the bucket.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hargreeves &amp; Klaus Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>if not himself, then he has naught</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i genuinely feel like this makes no sense, oh my god</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s a mission.  </p>
<p>Klaus is the lookout, because he always is.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t really mind.  </p>
<p>He thinks it’s meant to be a punishment or something like that, a reason not to get drunk or get high or else, a reason to feel shame, to feel embarrassment, to want to be and do better, to be an actual member of Umbrella Academy and not just stand on the sidelines.  </p>
<p>But Klaus has never cared much for dignity. He’s fine being the lookout.  </p>
<p>Dad babbles something about some criminals doing some crime and then has his driver drop them off in some building somewhere in the city. Klaus doesn’t really pay attention to what they’re doing or where they’re going, these days. He mostly just stands aside and lets his siblings work, anyway, so he doesn’t see a reason to bother.  </p>
<p>Luther, Diego, Allison, and Ben go in.  </p>
<p>Klaus lingers outside, pacing around the sidewalk, watching out for some invisible threat that won’t ever come. It’s all very boring. It’s always boring.  </p>
<p>An hour or so later, Luther comes out.  </p>
<p>And it’s-  </p>
<p>It’s weird, it’s weird, because Luther’s the last to come out most of the time, always caught up fixing dumb little details no one asked him to fix and no one really cares about. It’s Diego, or Ben, more often than not, that walk out of whatever building they were working in and bump their shoulder with his, ramble and ramble and ramble, tell him all about the mission.  </p>
<p>Another weird thing-  </p>
<p>Luther’s stomping, looking straight down. He’s not wearing his mask.  </p>
<p>“Hey, everything okay?” Klaus calls. </p>
<p>Luther freezes, doesn’t really turn to face him until he does.  </p>
<p>Another weird thing-  </p>
<p>Luther’s soaked in blood.  </p>
<p>Not his, by the look of it. It’s on his hands, mostly, his palms, some of it on his chest and his stomach, and then some more all over his forearms. There’s a streak going from his forehead through his hairline and beyond, like he tried rubbing his face.  </p>
<p>“Luther?”  </p>
<p>He doesn’t receive a response.  </p>
<p>Luther turns back around wordlessly, walks over to the sidewalk and sits down by the side of the road. Just like that. No comment on the blood, the unusual behavior. </p>
<p>Klaus gets a feeling.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t like it.  </p>
<p>He turns towards the building and walks in without another thought, instinctively fearing <em> something </em>, something, anything, fearing whatever the hell can turn his brother’s eyes into something so vacant and expressionless, lifeless.  </p>
<p>The place is spacious, abandoned turned nefarious. It’s got the distinct vibe and decoration style of a criminal who thinks they have to live among rats to prove their toughness.  </p>
<p>Klaus pays it no mind.  </p>
<p>He heads towards the back, where the good stuff was supposed to be happening. There’s a little door, shut, that leads to a back room. Diego’s standing right next to it.  </p>
<p>He’s got blood on his hands, too.  </p>
<p>He’s not wearing his mask, either. His eyes are red rimmed.  </p>
<p>“Diego,” Klaus starts, and his voice cracks. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”  </p>
<p>Diego looks up at him.  </p>
<p>His face does something funny, like he desperately <em> wants </em> to cry but doesn’t really know how. </p>
<p>“<em> Diego </em>,” Klaus repeats, without intent, just because he can.  </p>
<p>Diego shakes his head, side to side to side. “I’m- shit, I- he's-”  </p>
<p>“What?”  </p>
<p>“He-he’s- de-d-de-” </p>
<p><em> “What?” </em> </p>
<p>And fucking hates himself for interrupting because Diego gets <em> weird </em> about his stutter, but he hasn’t stuttered this bad in <em> ages </em>, and he’s never had that look in his eye, hauntingly similar to Luther’s, like maybe the both of them saw something they never should’ve seen.  </p>
<p>“Diego, c’mon,” Klaus says. “Just tell me.”  </p>
<p>But Diego doesn’t tell him. He breathes in heavily, snaps his eyes shut.  </p>
<p>Klaus breathes in, too, walks past him and braces himself, opens the dingy little door leading to the back room and steps in.  </p>
<p>The first thing he notices-? </p>
<p>The smell.  </p>
<p>It makes him gag.  </p>
<p>He knows what blood smells like. He’s bled a lot in his lifetime, has made other people bleed, has watched his siblings make other people bleed. He knows what blood smells like.  </p>
<p>This is different.  </p>
<p>This is-  </p>
<p>This is blood, like he’s never seen before. He looks down at the floor and there it is, pooling around his feet, blood, and blood, and blood, and blood, and it’s smeared all over, disturbed, footprints, and fingers, and splashes. It’s blood. It’s more blood than he ever thought possible. </p>
<p>The next thing he notices-? </p>
<p>He looks up, he looks around. Searches. Finds.  </p>
<p>Allison’s sitting down on the floor, on the worst of the blood, her legs outstretched awkwardly in front of her. Over her lap, cradled like something precious-  </p>
<p>Ben. </p>
<p>Not Ben, Klaus’ mind supplies, because Ben doesn’t look like a mangled thing, ashy and pale, with its guts hanging out, with its blood drained from out of its body, with its eyes wide open and unseeing, forever frozen, with fear, with resignation, with nothingness.  </p>
<p>Allison is crying. Sobbing.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t think she even notices his presence.  </p>
<p>“No,” Klaus says, not too loud, because-  </p>
<p>That’s Ben, isn’t it? </p>
<p>It doesn’t matter how <em> wrong </em> the image looks, how gruesome, how sickening, how terrifying, how <em> wrong, wrong, wrong </em>, it doesn’t matter, because right there, lying on Allison’s lap, lying on a puddle of his own blood, right there- is Ben.  </p>
<p>Ben.  </p>
<p>Dead.  </p>
<p>“No,” Klaus says, louder this time.  </p>
<p>Allison looks up at him, “Klaus,” she babbles, tired and worn, like his name is torn from her throat without her say so. She’s asking for comfort.  </p>
<p>But Klaus-  </p>
<p>“No,” he repeats, and he can’t stop staring at Ben’s corpse, at the blood, at the intestines, mangled, butchered, “<em> No </em> ,” he moans, and he takes a step back, and another, and another, “ <em> No </em> ,” he says, and he’s crying now, voice broken, “ <em> No, no, no, no, no </em> , <em> no, </em>”  </p>
<p>  </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ben’s dead.  </p>
<p>Klaus doesn’t know why he’s surprised.  </p>
<p>If anything, he thinks they lasted a truly impressive amount of time without getting themselves killed. Unless Five counts as dead, wherever he is. Then the only thing Ben did was make them lose their streak.  </p>
<p>They get home and Vanya’s hovering anxiously by the staircase, like she always is.  </p>
<p>She must sense something’s different. “What happened?”  </p>
<p>Klaus <em> laughs </em>, giggles, breathy and hysterical. “Oh, not much. Benny-boy kicked the bucket.”  </p>
<p>Vanya stares at him for a full ten seconds.  </p>
<p>No one speaks.  </p>
<p>“What?”  </p>
<p>Klaus shrugs, thinks of intestines, and blood, and empty eyes. “He’s dead.”  </p>
<p>Vanya keeps staring.  </p>
<p>He walks past her and up into his bedroom.  </p>
<p>He’s got half a bottle of whiskey, in there. A couple pills left over from his last escapade. He’s got a new thing, too, that he bought on a whim last time he went out. It goes on his veins instead of in his mouth. He thought he was never going to get around to using it, but-  </p>
<p>He’s feeling adventurous.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Klaus wakes up the next morning to snow, and the next, and the next, as if the universe somehow <em> knows </em> they’re miserable and wants to give them one more reason to suffer. </p>
<p>The funeral happens sometime in the next few days.  </p>
<p>The coffin is white.  </p>
<p>Klaus remembers reading somewhere that white coffins mean- purity, or innocence, or something like that. It’s funny, that Dad picked that color. None of them are innocent.  </p>
<p>It’s snowing. </p>
<p>The coffin is white.  </p>
<p>They gather in the courtyard, and Klaus can’t stop staring at the snow, falling, and falling, and falling, blending in with the coffin.  </p>
<p>Dad speaks, but Klaus doesn’t pay much attention. The snow is mesmerizing. He thinks Dad blames them, though, for Ben’s death. Allison makes some half-hearted comment, Luther stretches out an arm and holds her back, as if she’s going to do- <em> something </em>, anything.  </p>
<p>Dad ignores her, ignores them. Walks away. Mom, too, and Pogo.  </p>
<p>Then Vanya says, “It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”  </p>
<p>Then Diego says, “How would you know, Vanya? You weren’t even on the mission.”  </p>
<p>And there it is, isn’t it? </p>
<p>How would Vanya know, if she wasn’t even on the mission? How would Klaus know, if he wasn’t even in the building? He thinks he should feel guilty, blame himself. He wonders if Diego blames him and just hasn’t said anything yet.  </p>
<p>It’s snowing. The coffin is white.  </p>
<p>Klaus took a shitload of drugs before coming out to the courtyard.  </p>
<p>He thinks he likes the needles. They make him feel fuzzy, warm inside, make him feel like nothing matters and like everything matters too much. He feels good. He wants to feel this way forever and ever.  </p>
<p>His siblings leave, one by one.  </p>
<p>It’s weird that Ben’s just not here anymore.  </p>
<p>It’s plain stupid, really. Death as a concept is stupid. It makes no sense for things to live only for them to die. It just makes no sense.  </p>
<p>And for Ben to have died so horribly-?  </p>
<p>Well, that just makes him angry.  </p>
<p>He thinks of blood and guts spilled all over the floor, of ashy skin, of empty eyes. Allison was crying. Klaus had never seen her cry before.  </p>
<p>It’s weird that Ben’s just not here anymore. </p>
<p>Klaus takes a breath, walks over to the gazebo, stands under its roof.  </p>
<p>What he wants to do is probably selfish, and egocentric, and uncaring.  </p>
<p>It’s awful, and pitiless, cruel.  </p>
<p>Klaus puts his umbrella down, rests against the railing. Then he balls his hands into fists, snaps his eyes shut. He searches deep within himself and calls his power to the surface.  </p>
<p>Nothing happens for a second, but then it does. He feels energy flickering and spluttering, fighting for life. He pictures light, bright, and blue, and ethereal, pure and corrupted, spilling from in between his clenched fingertips.  </p>
<p>Nothing happens for a second, and Klaus fears nothing is going to happen at all.  </p>
<p>He’s not in the right frame of mind.  </p>
<p>Needles are fun, and pills are fun, and alcohol is fun.  </p>
<p>Nothing happens for a second, but then it does.  </p>
<p>“Klaus?”  </p>
<p>When he turns around, he sees him.  </p>
<p><em> Ben. </em> </p>
<p>And Klaus inhales sharply, exhales sharply. He can’t help the dumb smile that’s surely plastered all over his face. He feels fuzzy, and warm, and happy. Good.  </p>
<p>“Where- Where am I?”  </p>
<p>“You’re back in the land of the living.”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Life’s good for a while.  </p>
<p>Ben’s back.  </p>
<p>As back as he can be, anyway.  </p>
<p>Klaus thought he hated all and any ghost, but turns out he just hadn’t met the right one yet.  </p>
<p>Ben hovers over his shoulder all the time, always there, always close, always willing to listen, or to talk, or to stand in absolute silence and watch as Klaus wrecks himself, and his body, and his mind. He’s just- Ben, his brother.  </p>
<p>Life’s good.  </p>
<p>Life might not be all that good for his siblings, though.  </p>
<p>His bedroom shares a wall with Vanya’s.  </p>
<p>He’s always been able to hear her late at night, tossing and turning, moving around.  </p>
<p>He hears her now.  </p>
<p>Crying.  </p>
<p>Crying, and crying, and crying.  </p>
<p>She cries all the time to the point where it seems almost ridiculous, night after night, a girl so small, so stoic, so withdrawn, crying her heart out and not caring who’s there to listen.  </p>
<p>She never really says anything in the morning, so Klaus doesn’t either.  </p>
<p>Luther and Diego turn to anger, because they don’t know how to turn to tears.  </p>
<p>They fight.  </p>
<p>At least once a day, they fight. They call each other names and throw punches, say things they surely can’t mean, hit harder than they ever should.  </p>
<p>Allison turns to detachment, to a careful nonchalance. She pulls away from them, tough. Klaus can tell. They used to paint each other's nails. Now she always says she’s busy, not in the mood, begs him to go bother someone else.  </p>
<p>They’re not happy.  </p>
<p>They miss Ben.  </p>
<p>Klaus wants them to be happy.  </p>
<p>Klaus can make them happy.  </p>
<p>He calls a family meeting and almost giggles the whole time he does it, because they're not twelve anymore, and calling for a meeting with all the seriousness in the world only to end up sitting cross-legged in a circle in their dusty attic just doesn’t sound as consequential and crucial as it used to do. He asks Vanya to go, too.  </p>
<p>They never used to ask Vanya when they were twelve.  </p>
<p>They all go. Vanya is the first one to arrive. And there they end up, in their dusty attic, sitting crossed legged in a circle, wary, expectant, looking at Klaus and silently urging him to do whatever he came here to do, to say whatever he came here to say.  </p>
<p>Klaus looks at them and smiles, big, and bright. “I conjured Ben.”  </p>
<p>There are gasps.  </p>
<p>Luther looks away.  </p>
<p>Klaus keeps talking, “Right after the funeral,” he informs them, and he feels oddly calm, “He was gonna go to the light but decided to stay here with us.”  </p>
<p>“He’s- <em> he’s here </em>?” Allison croaks.  </p>
<p>She looks around then, as if she could see Ben if she tried hard enough, standing there and looking down at her with that ever-present peaceful look on his eye. She won’t. Ever. She’s not him. She doesn’t have his power.  </p>
<p>But that’s okay.  </p>
<p>Klaus can tell her.  </p>
<p>He nods. Looks over at Ben, standing by the attic’s one and only window, looking pensively at them all, an unreadable expression on his face. “He’s here. Over there.” </p>
<p>Everyone turns to look, if they know they won’t see anything.  </p>
<p>Allison slaps a hand over her mouth.  </p>
<p>There rest sit there, frozen.  </p>
<p>They’re all looking at the window, not at him, and Klaus’ finds it disproportionately funny, that Ben’s <em> right there </em>, and they’re missing him by a couple inches.  </p>
<p>He takes out his flask and takes a gulp and another, enjoys the burn down his throat.  </p>
<p>But then, Luther, flatly, almost a whisper, “You’re drunk?”  </p>
<p>He’s not looking him in the eye.  </p>
<p>He looks sad.  </p>
<p>Klaus takes another gulp. </p>
<p>“Klaus,” Luther says, a little forcefully now. “Are you drunk?” </p>
<p>Klaus caps the flask, puts it down next to him.  </p>
<p>He shrugs, “Does it matter?”  </p>
<p>Luther looks away, again.  </p>
<p>The answer is yes. He’s very, very drunk. High, too. That lovely high that he’s only recently learned to perfect, that high that leaves him feeling like he can do anything, like anything can happen, that makes his limbs feel heavy, that makes his mind feel clouded.  </p>
<p>But does it matter?  </p>
<p>“Of course it matters, dipshit,” Diego says, suddenly. He’s angry. He’s always angry. “I thought you couldn’t see ghosts if you were drunk?”  </p>
<p>Klaus breathes out.  </p>
<p>He’s wondered, too.  </p>
<p>But he figures Ben must be different, somehow.  </p>
<p>He never wanted any of the ghosts around. He wants Ben around. Maybe Dad was right and Klaus can actually do more than stare at specters all day long. Maybe when he’s drunk, and when he’s high, he’s actually relaxed enough to push the ghosts away and make them disappear and he’s just <em> not </em> pushing Ben away from among the hordes of ghosts.  </p>
<p>Or maybe his powers do flunk out when he’s drunk, and maybe he just wants Ben around that much. Maybe he’s clinging to him, drawing him in with all that he’s got, making his powers work and work hard, making his powers be useful for once.  </p>
<p>“I know, I know,” he says, “I know it doesn’t sound great, but- I conjured him, Diego. The day of the funeral. I’ve been seeing him since. He’s here.”  </p>
<p>Diego stares at him.  </p>
<p>A moment passes by.  </p>
<p>Another moment passes by.  </p>
<p>Another moment passes by.  </p>
<p>“Prove it.”  </p>
<p>“What?”  </p>
<p>Diego huffs out. “Klaus, you haven’t been sober for a second in months. I’m sorry, but I- I don’t believe you. If you say you can see Ben then that’s fine, but <em> prove </em> it.”  </p>
<p>“How the hell would I prove it?”  </p>
<p>“I don’t know. Use your imagination.”  </p>
<p>“Diego,” Klaus says, almost whining. “Don’t be so-”  </p>
<p>“Just drop it, Diego,” Luther says, still flatly, emotionless, defeated, “It’s not worth it.”  </p>
<p>And, oh-  </p>
<p>That’s worse.  </p>
<p>It’s just worse.  </p>
<p>Allison and Vanya don’t really speak, don’t really react in any way at all. Vanya looks down at her lap. Allison keeps looking to the window, almost at Ben, <em> almost. </em> </p>
<p>“No,” Diego says, “I want him to prove it.”  </p>
<p>“You know he can’t prove it. Dad says his powers-”  </p>
<p>“Shut up about Dad! No one’s talking about Dad. Why do you always have to-?” </p>
<p>“I was just saying his powers are not exactly-” </p>
<p>“I can prove it,” Klaus blurts, before he’s fully thought it through.  </p>
<p>Ben raises an eyebrow.  </p>
<p>Diego and Luther shut up. They turn to look at him. Allison and Vanya, too.  </p>
<p>“I can prove it,” Klaus repeats, slower this time, like he actually meant to say it the first time around, “Just ask me something. Anything. Something only Ben would know. Ben will tell me.” and he shoots Ben a look, a little wild, a little desperate, “Right, Ben?”  </p>
<p>Ben doesn’t reply.  </p>
<p>“Alright,” Diego says, begrudgingly, “Yeah, that’s good enough for me.”  </p>
<p>Klaus breathes out, “Okay, yeah. So. Shoot.”  </p>
<p>Diego takes a moment.  </p>
<p>He’s probably trying to recall a single memory for which Ben was present but Klaus was not. Must be difficult. They all spend every single waking moment together.  </p>
<p>They’re like a pack of ravenous wolves, the bunch of them.  </p>
<p>Always together. Feral. Wild. Never apart.  </p>
<p>But Diego thinks of something. “What did Ben reprogram Allison’s Teddy Ruxpin to say?”  </p>
<p>Allison whips her head up, “It was Ben?”  </p>
<p>Diego shushes her.  </p>
<p>He looks straight at him, expectant.  </p>
<p>And yeah, yeah, yeah, Klaus does remember, a couple years back, Allison suddenly bursting from out of her bedroom one day, furious, holding her precious Teddy Ruxpin close, screaming bloody murder and asking who had messed with it.  </p>
<p>Klaus hadn’t known Ben was the culprit.  </p>
<p>Klaus doesn’t know what the hell the bear was tweaked into saying, that made Allison so upset.  </p>
<p>He looks up at Ben, waits for a response.  </p>
<p>It doesn’t come.  </p>
<p>“Ben?”  </p>
<p>Nothing.  </p>
<p>“C’mon, don’t get shy. What did you make it say?”  </p>
<p>Nothing.  </p>
<p><em> Nothing. </em> </p>
<p>Ben stands there, looks at him, doesn’t say a <em> single </em> word.  </p>
<p>Diego looks straight at him, daring him to make a wrong move. The rest of their siblings stare at him, too, <em> expectant, expectant, expectant, </em> waiting, hoping against hope.  </p>
<p>“<em> Ben </em>,” Klaus says, and he’s hurt now, he’s disgruntled, he’s confused.  </p>
<p>Ben <em> doesn’t </em>reply.  </p>
<p>Diego huffs out something like laughter, something like a growl, “Thought so,” he mumbles, looking away, and that’s that.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ben, how come you’re not bloody like the other ghosts?”  </p>
<p>“I don’t know.”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why the hell did you do that?” Klaus shrieks, once they’re back in his bedroom.  </p>
<p>And oh, oh, <em> oh </em> , Ben does <em> reply </em> now. He speaks! “You know why, Klaus.”  </p>
<p>“No, I don’t,” Klaus spits, matter of factly, “So, why don’t you enlighten me?”  </p>
<p>Ben stays quiet.  </p>
<p>It’s like everything he knows how to do is to stay quiet.  </p>
<p>Klaus breathes out very slowly, “All you had to do was answer Diego’s question, Ben. It was that simple. Don’t you want them to know you’re here?”  </p>
<p>“I do,” Ben says, “You do.”  </p>
<p>“So?”  </p>
<p>Ben shrugs.  </p>
<p>Klaus groans, digs his fingers into his palms.  </p>
<p>He feels like crying.  </p>
<p>He’s only cried once since Ben died, back in that building. He walked out of the backroom, leaned against the door, ignored Allison’s wails, ignored Diego’s stuttered babblers. He cried.  </p>
<p>He feels like crying, now.  </p>
<p>“I hate you,” Klaus says, suddenly. A hiss. Venomous. Untrue. “<em> I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” </em>  </p>
<p>Ben doesn’t reply.  </p>
<p>Klaus packs his bags right then and there, fills up a duffle with some clothes and some trinkets from around the house. He packs up his stashes. Money, and alcohol, and drugs.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t see Ben for the rest of the day.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t see Ben for a good while, after.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His life turns into a blur of needles and pills, of wandering hands, of couch surfing, of- <em> bed </em> surfing, identical days, one after the next, being told sickeningly sweet compliments by men who then push him down and gloat when he cries out.  </p>
<p>Ben doesn’t come back for weeks, for months.  </p>
<p>Klaus has taken residence in a nice little alleyway tucked behind an apartment complex in the nicer part of town. The neighbors sometimes leave food out for him. Like a dog.  </p>
<p>He thinks he should maybe feel shame or something, cling to his dignity.  </p>
<p>But- </p>
<p>It’s fine! It’s fine!  </p>
<p>Klaus has never cared much for dignity.  </p>
<p>The one thing he’s always cared about, won’t ever stop caring about, is loneliness. It’s dizzying, it’s disconcerting, it’s maddening. He hates being alone.  </p>
<p>He misses his family, misses Allison, painting his nails, misses Luther and Diego, bickering all day long, misses Vanya, the shriek of her melodies. He misses Mom, and her kind touches, misses Pogo, and that fond look in his eye.  </p>
<p>He misses Ben.  </p>
<p>How could he not miss Ben?  </p>
<p>And it’s like Ben knows, like he’s reading his mind, like he was lying low, lurking, waiting for the right moment to sneak up on him, waiting for the second in which Klaus would lower his guard and let him in, beg for him to come back.  </p>
<p>Ben shows up. </p>
<p>“Hey,” he says, softly, his hood pulled up, his hands shoved in his pockets.  </p>
<p>Klaus smiles, big, and <em> bright, bright, bright, </em> “Hi”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ben disappears on him sometimes.  </p>
<p>Not very often, but still.  </p>
<p>Sometimes, Klaus wakes up on a stranger’s bed, and he’s not afraid, but he could be, and he searches for his brother and he’s just not there.  </p>
<p>He always comes back, though.  </p>
<p>Always.  </p>
<p>He never says where he goes. Klaus never asks.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Weeks, months, <em> years </em>, Klaus gets arrested.  </p>
<p>It doesn’t really come as a surprise.  </p>
<p>What does come as a surprise is that the judge he gets assigned to decides a skinny twenty something stealing frozen meals and eyeliner from a grocery store is just depressing, and next thing he knows, his charges of drug possession are suddenly dropped and he’s being told he’s lucky, <em> so lucky </em> , so <em> very </em> lucky.  </p>
<p>A police officer drops him off in a rehabilitation center.  </p>
<p>It’s hell.  </p>
<p>Klaus can’t describe it any other way.  </p>
<p>And it’s-  </p>
<p>It’s different.  </p>
<p>Klaus knows pain, and suffering, and people watching his every move, people telling him he’s done wrong, people telling him he only matters if he learns how to function like they do, if he improves and lets himself be molded, if he <em> changes </em>, if he stops being everything he’s ever been. He knows pain. He knows suffering.  </p>
<p>He knows small rooms and cameras, notepads, disapproving looks.  </p>
<p>He gets put in rehab and he can’t stop thinking about his father.  </p>
<p>Then the withdrawals hit.  </p>
<p>Then the ghosts appear.  </p>
<p>Klaus wants to die.  </p>
<p>He wants someone to comfort him, to tell him it’s not really happening, to tell him he’s always been fine before so why wouldn’t he be fine this one time?  </p>
<p>He doesn’t know what he wants.  </p>
<p>He- </p>
<p>“Ben,” he calls, a day, any day, into a rock-hard pillow, into scratchy sheets, “Ben, Ben, what-” he doesn’t know what he wants, he doesn’t know what he’s asking, “Ben, <em> please </em>,”  </p>
<p>He’s delirious, he thinks, he’s clammy, he’s sweaty, he’s tired.  </p>
<p>He wants <em> Ben </em>.  </p>
<p>But Ben’s not there.  </p>
<p>He’s just not there.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Klaus floats the whole time he’s there.  </p>
<p>People love preaching about drugs, and their dangers, and how they haze one’s mind, cloud one’s thoughts, but Klaus finds it’s just the opposite.  </p>
<p>He can’t think when he’s sober, can’t focus on anything but the <em> want, want, want, </em> that dances over his skin, on anything but the nausea and the cramping, the aching.  </p>
<p>He wants Ben and Ben’s not there.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s only once the worst is done for, that Ben bothers to show up, only a few days before Klaus is meant to be allowed to leave.  </p>
<p>Klaus wakes up one morning, and Ben’s standing there, by the foot of his shitty bed.  </p>
<p>He exhales carefully, a sigh, “Where the hell were you?”  </p>
<p>And there’s not much emotion to his voice but Klaus feels it all the same.  </p>
<p>A hint of bitterness, something hostile, and tender, raw.  </p>
<p>Ben shrugs.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re not wearing the clothes you died in, Ben.”  </p>
<p>“That’s okay. This jacket is way better, don’t you think?”  </p>
<p>“Yeah, I guess.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Klaus keeps getting arrested, and he keeps getting thrown into rehab, and every time is just as horrible as the first one, if not worse.  </p>
<p>He knows what to expect now, if that counts for something.  </p>
<p>Ben very rarely sticks around for those stints, and Klaus pretends it doesn’t <em> hurt </em>, that his brother doesn’t seem to stand the sight of him, at his worst, a rock bottom after another.  </p>
<p>He gets arrested for real, once, spends six lovely months in a jail cell, four bare walls, a single dingy door. No windows.  </p>
<p>It’s not so bad.  </p>
<p>It’s easy, to find a dealer.  </p>
<p>It’s easy, to put his head down and let whatever has to happen to him happen to him if it means he’ll end up loose limbed and happy, relaxed, a pill under his tongue, warm inside. </p>
<p>Ben stays for that one. He’s not all that pleased.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Weeks, months, <em> years </em>, Klaus walks by a book store and finds a book with his sister’s face on it, twelve, maybe thirteen, those awful bangs covering half of her face.  </p>
<p>Extra-Ordinary, it says.  </p>
<p>Ben stares at it for a long time.  </p>
<p>“Buy it.”  </p>
<p>Klaus buys it. </p>
<p>And it’s awful, it’s awful, it’s the goddamned worst thing Klaus has ever read in his entire lifetime, and it’s- it’s <em> betrayal </em>, it’s hurt, it’s wondering if he really was that cruel as a child, and he just can’t remember.  </p>
<p>He never thought of himself as particularly despicable and morbid, as mocking, as mean, he never thought of himself as a vicious creature that never cared for anything but belittling everyone around him, an attention seeker, a promiscuous brat, a liar.  </p>
<p>Reckless and irresponsible? Sure. Sure.  </p>
<p>Why not?  </p>
<p>Klaus knows he’s not perfect. Klaus knows he’s shit at that whole family thing.  </p>
<p>But- </p>
<p>But.  </p>
<p>Ben looks at him, and he looks almost pitying, “I can’t believe she wrote that,” he says, kind, and careful, and everything Klaus’ ever needed.  </p>
<p>And then- </p>
<p>Weeks, months, <em> years </em>, Klaus is in someone’s bed, in someone’s kitchen, watching someone’s tattered little television screen, and he sees his brother.  </p>
<p>It’s a cartoon, oddly styled, colorful.  </p>
<p><em> Spaceboy! The first boy in space! </em> </p>
<p>A <em> moon </em> exploration mission.  </p>
<p>Ben laughs. </p>
<p>Allison’s movies are on tv all the time. Diego’s disappeared off the face of the earth, but those new reports about a masked vigilante are a little suspicious.  </p>
<p>Their siblings are out there, living their lives.  </p>
<p>Klaus and Ben have each other.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dad dies, one day.  </p>
<p>Klaus almost cheers.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t feel bad about not feeling bad.  </p>
<p>Ben chastises him, weakly, halfheartedly, tells him to show some respect. Klaus can see something relived in him, though, like he can finally breathe out.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The reunion is shit.  </p>
<p>Luther and Diego fight. Allison pretends it doesn’t bother her. Vanya stands by the sidelines, watches quietly, lets herself be stepped on.  </p>
<p>It’s all the same.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Five comes back.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Five says the world is going to end.  </p>
<p>Klaus believes him.  </p>
<p>Seems a little tragic, the end of the world. He can't get that image out of his head, of his brother, thirteen years old, arrogant, conceited, fiercely loyal, thrown into a world of fire and ash.  </p>
<p>But-  </p>
<p>It is what it is.  </p>
<p>Klaus feels just every bit as cruel and morbid, <em> selfish </em>, as Vanya thinks he is when he decides not to do anything about it. What could he do, anyway? </p>
<p>He does humor Five when he asks for help, but-  </p>
<p>Ultimately, what could he do?  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But then-  </p>
<p><em> Then </em>.  </p>
<p>Klaus takes a bath. Klaus puts his headphones on, <em> loud, loud, loud </em>.  </p>
<p>He closes his eyes.  </p>
<p>He wakes up in the trunk of a car, a pounding in his head, duct tape around his mouth and his wrists, his ankles. Everything feels sharp, and jagged, entirely too much, and he doesn’t really understand what’s happening until he does.  </p>
<p>A man and a woman strip him down and tie him to a chair in the shadiest room in the shadiest motel the city has to offer.  </p>
<p>It’s not even the first time something’s like this has happened to him.  </p>
<p>But- </p>
<p>It’s different this time, he can tell.  </p>
<p>They burn him </p>
<p>They cut him. </p>
<p>They kick him.  </p>
<p>They want to know where Five is.  </p>
<p>Klaus doesn’t <em> know </em> where Five is.  </p>
<p>Worst part is, he’s pretty sure he would give in and tell them if he knew.  </p>
<p>He wonders why Ben didn’t tell him they were coming for him back in the house, before they did, so that he could’ve at least tried to get away, at least tried to pretend he could’ve done something about it, could’ve fought and won against these people.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t ask, though.  </p>
<p>Ben never answers that sorts of questions.  </p>
<p>Sobriety creeps up on him ever so slowly, and it’s painful, and it’s terrifying, and it’s somehow worse than hands on his throat and cigarettes on his thighs, it’s-  </p>
<p>It’s pain. It’s suffering.  </p>
<p>Then they threaten to take away his pills, his <em> pills </em> , the <em> last </em> of his <em> pills </em> , and what is he even supposed to do without his <em> pills </em> and with all of the exhaustion and agony and sorrow in his chest, all of the tired rage that threatens to bubble up, and spill, and never stop? </p>
<p>He blurts out some babbled mess about Meritech. </p>
<p>They still take his pills away.  </p>
<p>Then they shove in a closet, and everything’s dark, and he’s sober, and there are ghosts all around him, and then- </p>
<p>“You know what the worst part of being dead is?” Ben says, apropos of nothing.  </p>
<p>Klaus can’t speak.  </p>
<p>He’s got tape over his mouth again.  </p>
<p>“You’re stuck,” Ben says, easily, like he’s thought about it long and hard, like he’s doing nothing but stating facts, “Nowhere to go, nowhere to change,” but his voice is almost dull, oddly distorted, and Klaus is sweating, is shaking, and he feels like giving up, “That’s the real torture if you gotta know. Watching your brother take for granted everything you lost and pissing it all away.” </p>
<p>Why are you here, then? Klaus wants to say.  </p>
<p><em> Why are you here, then? </em> Klaus wants to scream.  </p>
<p>But he’s got tape over his mouth, he’s got a heavy wearing in his bones, exhaustion, resignation, <em> fear </em>.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t want to die.  </p>
<p>He’s done nothing.  </p>
<p>He’s done nothing but waste his entire life away, and- and he’s fine with that! He’s- he’s not <em> exactly </em> fine with that, but it is what it is, and Klaus has always gone around with the firm belief if his life ends up mounting up to nothing but epic highs and random fucks, then so be it.  </p>
<p>He often wonders what Ben would’ve done instead, if he were the one who was alive.  </p>
<p>He often wonders if Ben should have been the lookout, all those years ago, wonders if it should have been him, in that building, intestines, and blood, and empty eyes. </p>
<p>He doesn’t really say anything, doesn’t really try.  </p>
<p>He cries instead, low whimpers, quiet sobs.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You look older.”  </p>
<p>“Do I?”  </p>
<p>“Yes. Why?”  </p>
<p>“I don’t know.”  </p>
<p>“Ghosts don’t age.”  </p>
<p>“I don’t know, Klaus, you tell me. You’re the expert on the dead, remember?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His captors come back at some point, drag his chair to the middle of the room, tear the tape off his mouth.  </p>
<p>There are ghosts all around him. </p>
<p>He’s painfully sober.  </p>
<p>Five knows he’s here, he’s told.  </p>
<p>He’s bait, he’s told, he’s one more brother, dead.  </p>
<p>He’s <em> painfully </em> sober.  </p>
<p>Then- </p>
<p>Suddenly, <em> suddenly </em>, among the horde that surrounds him, among blood and guts, and confusing tongues, among chilling shrieks, among it all- Ben disappears.  </p>
<p>Vanishes.  </p>
<p>Off to wherever it is he fucks off to when he’s gone.  </p>
<p>And Klaus-  </p>
<p>There are things he just can’t do by himself.  </p>
<p>He hates being alone.  </p>
<p>“Ben?” he calls, tentatively, not too loud.  </p>
<p>A ghost next to him shrieks.  </p>
<p>Another one starts crying, its body retching minutely.  </p>
<p>Klaus feels feverish. “Ben?”  </p>
<p>But Ben’s not there.  </p>
<p><em> “Ben?” </em> </p>
<p>“Hey, shut up!” the woman, <em> pink, pink, pink </em>, calls, unkindly.  </p>
<p>“And what did I say about eyes up front?” the man, <em> blue, blue, blue </em>, calls, unkindly.  </p>
<p>Their masks are terrifying.  </p>
<p>Their faces, bare, and angry, even more so.  </p>
<p>Klaus whimpers, snaps his eyes shut.  </p>
<p>He knows Ben, and he loves Ben, and he knows he’s not exactly an easy person to be around, an easy person to put up with, and he knows he’s never really blamed Ben, when he goes away, when Klaus is tired, and in pain, and scared out of his mind, feverish and barely coherent, and Ben goes away.  </p>
<p>But there are things he just <em> can’t </em> do by himself.  </p>
<p>“<em> Ben </em> ,” he babbles, hysterically, “ <em> Ben, Ben, Ben, </em> ” and Ben’s not there, he’s just not there, and he always comes back but not precisely when Klaus calls, when Klaus wants him to, when Klaus <em> needs </em> him to, “ <em> Ben! </em>” he shrieks, and he’s never been more afraid in his life.  </p>
<p>“I said shut up!”  </p>
<p>And she slaps him.  </p>
<p>Klaus lets his head loll to the side, murmurs, “<em> No </em>,” -more like a moan, a whimper, a cry.  </p>
<p>He wants-  </p>
<p>He <em> needs </em>-  </p>
<p>“<em> Ben </em>,” he calls, again, uncaring.  </p>
<p>And-  </p>
<p>And he’s always respected Ben’s choice to fuck off and leave him alone when he needs him most, he’s never once tried to disturb him, wherever he is, but-  </p>
<p>He clenches his fists.  </p>
<p>He closes his eyes.  </p>
<p>Nothing happens for a second.  </p>
<p>Klaus fears nothing’s going to happen at all.  </p>
<p>Nothing happens for a second, but then it does. He feels energy flickering and sputtering, fighting for life. He pictures light, bright, and blue, and ethereal, pure and corrupted, spilling from in between his clenched fingertips.  </p>
<p>He’s- </p>
<p>He’s <em> sober </em>.  </p>
<p>He’s delirious, and exhausted, and scared out of his mind, but he’s <em> sober </em>.  </p>
<p>He pierces the veil of death and searches for his brother.  </p>
<p>He finds him.  </p>
<p>It’s almost overwhelming, that feeling that engulfs him that means gore, and blood, and death, that means hushed whispers and eerie understanding, that means power, and control.  </p>
<p>Klaus thinks, in another life, in one where he was less of a coward, he could’ve been the strongest out of his siblings, out of the living, out of the dead, he could've been a sight to behold, a creature to fear, he could've been death himself, life himself, a soul, hungry.  </p>
<p>He opens his eyes and Ben Hargreeves is standing in front of him.  </p>
<p>Klaus <em> screams </em>.  </p>
<p>A butchered sound, more like a howl, a wail.  </p>
<p>He tries to jerk away but he’s tied to his goddamned chair, and then he thinks he doesn’t care, anyway, and tries to jerk away even if it means he’ll end up squirming on the floor, but one of the people, one of his captors- one of them hold him in place, hissing at him to shut up. </p>
<p>“No,” Klaus says, plain and desperate, the one thing he’s ever been truly certain of, “<em> No </em>,”  </p>
<p>“Klaus?”  </p>
<p>“<em> No! </em>” </p>
<p>The ghosts close in around him, chanting, moaning, accusing, and Klaus feels like he’s one of them, a mindless thing, or maybe he feels like this is it-!  </p>
<p>This is it-! </p>
<p>This is the day they’ll cross over and tear him apart. This is the day he’s been fearing for as long as he’s been alive. This is the day all of his ghosts and his spirits and his delusions will carry out every single thing that’s ever been promised to him, the prophecies and the vows, the threats, the all-encompassing presage, comforting, soothing, something to long for, that it will all end. </p>
<p>The ghosts talk, and they talk, and they talk, and they talk-  </p>
<p><em> “She chopped my hands off!” </em> </p>
<p><em> “Tā gē shāngle wǒ de hóulóng!”  </em> </p>
<p><em> “Aw balesh ra rewa sewretm gudashet!” </em> </p>
<p><em> “They shocked me for hours!” </em> </p>
<p><em> “He ran me over! Forward! Reverse!” </em> </p>
<p>And then, a single sentence-  </p>
<p>“I bled out,” and it’s said like it’s a realization, like it’s the first time it’s been ever thought through, “Klaus, I- I bled out.”  </p>
<p>“<em> No! </em>”  </p>
<p>“Allison was crying.” </p>
<p>“<em> No, no, no-! </em>”  </p>
<p>“Allison never cries, why- why was she crying?”  </p>
<p><em> “No, no, no, no, no-!” </em> </p>
<p>“Was it for me? Because I bled out?”  </p>
<p>“<em> No! </em> ” Klaus shrieks, and he bucks against his restraints, and he tries to get away, and he ignores his captors screaming at him, hitting him once more, saying things he doesn’t care to understand. “No, you- <em> no! </em>”  </p>
<p>Ben Hargreeves is standing in front of him.  </p>
<p>His brother is standing in front of him.  </p>
<p>Seventeen. A child. Somehow looking <em> younger </em> than the one from his memories.  </p>
<p>His eyes are wide open, almost startled, and they look oddly empty, glassed over, like the eyes of a dead thing, and Klaus desperately wants to stop looking but he can’t, he just <em> can’t- </em> </p>
<p>It’s the eyes, and it’s the uniform, torn leather and stained boots, it’s the dazed expression, unchangeable, it’s ashy and pale skin, and then it’s- </p>
<p>It’s the blood.  </p>
<p>It’s blood, and guts, and intestines.  </p>
<p>It’s a shapeless mess spilling from his middle, tender, and raw, and drenched through, it’s a shapeless mess of red on red on red on red, and it’s a decade ago, blood pooling all over the floor, it’s haunted looks on his sibling’s faces, it’s wanting to get away from it all.  </p>
<p>“It hurts,” Ben says, suddenly, “I don’t know why it hurts.”  </p>
<p>Klaus cries.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t know what to do and so he cries.  </p>
<p>Ben doesn’t seem to notice.  </p>
<p>Neither do a single one of the ghosts.  </p>
<p>“<em> No </em> ,” Klaus keeps saying, “ <em> No, no, no, no, </em>”  </p>
<p>“God, make him shut up already!” Pink says.  </p>
<p>“Should we kill him?” Blue says.  </p>
<p>“No. We still need Number Five to show up.” </p>
<p>“So?” </p>
<p>“Klaus,” Ben says, “Klaus, it hurts.” </p>
<p>And Klaus-  </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he blurts, and it’s true, “Ben, Ben, oh my- Ben, Ben, <em> Ben </em> , <em> I’m sorry </em> , I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t- I don’t-” he’s gasping for breath, he’s crying, he’s shrieking, he needs Ben to <em> understand, </em>“You shouldn’t have died! You shouldn’t be dead! I- I'm-”  </p>
<p>“Shut up!” Pink barks two inches from his face. </p>
<p>Klaus leans to the side, cranes his neck, does everything so he can look past her and at his brother. His brother. His <em> brother </em>.  </p>
<p>Ben stares at him with such sad, <em> sad </em> eyes.  </p>
<p>“Alright, that’s it,” Pink says, suddenly, “Do we have any sedatives?”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They do have sedatives.  </p>
<p>The good stuff.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Klaus keeps trashing for as long as he can, keeps jerking left and right, keeps babbling nonsense, following a train of thought he can barely understand. He keeps looking at Ben, a child, he keeps looking at Ben, young, and afraid, and soaked in blood, in his insides.  </p>
<p>But then-  </p>
<p>Then it all goes away.  </p>
<p>Then everything starts feeling fuzzy, and warm, and unimportant, and he doesn’t exactly feel <em> good </em>, because he’s spent the better part of a day being beaten senseless while being told everything he never wanted to hear, but-  </p>
<p>He feels-  </p>
<p>He feels like it could all be okay.  </p>
<p>Like it doesn’t really matter all that much, if it’s okay. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ghosts go away, one, by one, by one, by one.  </p>
<p>He can see them on his periphery, shapeless figures lurking, waiting for him to give in and look them in the eye.  </p>
<p>They go away.  </p>
<p>They disappear.  </p>
<p>They vanish.  </p>
<p>Klaus knows they’re still there and he just- can't see them, anymore.  </p>
<p>How could he?  </p>
<p>He’s not in the right frame of mind.  </p>
<p>Some psychos in creepy children’s masks injected some weird shit of dubious provenance into his veins! He was <em> sober </em> but now he’s <em> not! </em> </p>
<p>Worst thing is, he probably would’ve spent his weekend the exact same way.  </p>
<p>Laughter bubbles from out of his lips, a little giggle, something that edges on crazed.  </p>
<p>He can practically <em> feel </em> the way Blue and Pink glare daggers into his back but he just- he ignores them! He ignores them! He pretends they’re not there.  </p>
<p>There’s a buzz under his skin, almost pleasant.  </p>
<p>The ghosts go away, one, by one, by one, by one. </p>
<p>Ben’s the last one to go.  </p>
<p>“You’re different,” Ben says, solemn, expressionless. “You look sad.” </p>
<p>Klaus <em> really </em> laughs, there, digging his nails into his palms.  </p>
<p>“Why are you sad?”  </p>
<p>“You’re dead,” Klaus blurts, laughing still, feeling crazed, “You died. You’re dead.”  </p>
<p>Ben doesn’t reply.  </p>
<p>Klaus keeps laughing, “<em> This little piggy went to the market, </em> ” he singsongs, “ <em> This little piggy stayed home. And this little piggy got his insides crushed to the bone!” </em> </p>
<p>Ben <em> doesn’t </em> reply.  </p>
<p>Klaus gets told to shut up. </p>
<p>Klaus shuts up.  </p>
<p>“I bled out,” Ben says, “It wasn’t your fault.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ben disappears, along with the rest of the ghosts.  </p>
<p>Klaus can’t say he misses the sight of his stomach, spilling, bloody, butchered.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wonders if he’s going to die.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wonders if Five even cares, that he’s here.  </p>
<p>He wonders if anyone will ever find him.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thinks of home, wherever that might be. The mansion, maybe, or the bed of a lover. He thinks of Dad’s stupid rules and stupid training methods, of his siblings’ love, of his siblings’ loathing. He thinks he wasted an entire lifetime, away from them.  </p>
<p>What for?  </p>
<p>It wasn’t worth it.  </p>
<p>The freedoms and the highs, all of it, it wasn’t worth it.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d do it again, anyway.  </p>
<p>He’s selfish.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There are some things Klaus just <em> can’t </em> do by himself.  </p>
<p>Turns out, one of them is being tortured with brutish techniques for days on end.  </p>
<p>He starts aching for Ben, longing for him, missing him like a vice, like if he doesn’t see him, whole, and warm, and alive, like if he doesn’t see him then he’s just got no good reason to cling to sanity, to whatever instinct screams at him to stay alive.  </p>
<p>And it’s like Ben knows, like he’s reading his mind, like he was lying low, lurking, waiting for the right moment to sneak up on him, waiting for the second in which Klaus would lower his guard and let him in, beg for him to come back. </p>
<p>Ben shows up.  </p>
<p>The right one.  </p>
<p>The right age.  </p>
<p>The right height.  </p>
<p>The right easy smile, and clear eyes, wearing the right clothes, that dumb leather jacket, that overly dramatic hoodie.  </p>
<p>There’s not a single trace of blood on him.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t look like a ghost.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t look like a ghost because he’s not a ghost.  </p>
<p>It’s him.  </p>
<p>It’s Ben.  </p>
<p>“Hey,” he says, softly, his hood pulled up, his hands shoved in his pockets.  </p>
<p>Klaus smiles, big, and <em> bright, bright, bright, </em> “Hi” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re not real, are you?”  </p>
<p>“Does it matter?” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*david castañeda's voice* PLOT TWIST</p>
<p>aahhhh this one's based off <a href="https://umbrellakink.dreamwidth.org/1730.html?thread=1409986#cmt1409986"> this </a> lovely prompt from that umbrella kink thing:  "While we don't know what exactly happened to Ben, Klaus intimates that it wasn't pretty. So why is the Ben that Klaus conjures throughout the series in such excellent condition? When he was kidnapped by Hazel and Cha-Cha and plagued by visions of their victims, they each appeared to him as they did when they died, grizzly wounds and all. There's also the fact that Klaus hasn't been able to conjure anyone in years because of his rampant drug use--so it's a little odd that he can conjure Ben so easily.</p>
<p>The answer? The Ben that Klaus sees is a hallucination. As he sobers up, he sees the real Ben, with all of his injuries, and... As far as he's concerned, that's just one more reason to not get sober." </p>
<p>also, what's UP with that umbrella kink thing, oh my god, the things i saw..... </p>
<p>follow me on tumblr <a href="https://myeyesarenotblue.tumblr.com/">@myeyesarenotblue</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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